


Look At A Place Far Away From Here

by toucanpie



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: AU - Cap Unfrozen Differently, AU - Characters Met Differently, F/M, M/M, Shadowy Organisations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-23
Updated: 2014-06-23
Packaged: 2018-02-04 22:31:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1795576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/toucanpie/pseuds/toucanpie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve's instructions were strict. Get in, get close, get out. He never counted on Stark making it so hard.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Look At A Place Far Away From Here

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BlueManta](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueManta/gifts).



"I don't see why this is necessary."

"Please, Mr Rogers, sit down. The full scope of the mission has not been explained yet. It's not unusual for you to have doubts at this stage."

The glass panelling was tinted with a voice that came out of two small speakers on its sides. Steve had touched the bristled surface of them both during his first time in the interview room. Sometimes when sound was being transmitted through them particularly loud, they jumped a centimetre or two, like the words were leaping out to his palm.

He sat on the chair provided. It creaked.

"Now," said the voice from beyond the window. "If you would open the folder to your right we can begin with the subject of this task."

\----

Stark Manor was peaceful in the dark. The air was crisp and a welcoming glow beckoned from more than one door. Up in front cars were steadily pulling in and depositing guests in groups while staff stepped out from the shadows to usher them in and take any particulars.

Steve's ride had dropped him further back. Him out of one door, his escort out another. Her name was Natasha and she didn't speak unless she was in character. She had sat the whole ride down from the institute in silence, looking out the window. In reflections she looked still and empty like a quiet lake, but on their missions she was pleasantly friendly. _Tactile, supportive, a good intuiter of human behaviour_ he'd written on their last debrief.

She dealt with all the niceties as they approached the manor and went inside. Her white gloved hands passed over the heavy layers, her smile softening and sharpening as necessary, knife to a grindstone. Steve had been instructed not to talk to anyone who didn't matter, so that was what he did.

He took in the tens of entrances and the valets darting back and forth. He saw no system to who went where, no security visible and plenty of cover afforded by the dark. He didn't let things irk him when he was working but they could've come in waiters uniforms and slipped in anywhere they liked. 

Natasha's arm slipped back through his and steered him up towards the stairs. She took a flute off a nearby tray and passed it to him before taking one for herself.

"Remember to try and act like you're having fun," she said, with a friendly nudge to his ribs.

He smiled sideways at her, like he would've done if they were friends attending a function together.

\----

"Does the topic of sexual encounters make you uncomfortable, Mr Rogers?"

"No, ma'am," Steve replied, opening his mouth for the swab of the nurse who moved between him and his interviewer.

"Do you understand the importance of human-gathered intelligence when putting together a dossier on a subject?"

"Yes, Ma'am."

"In what way do you understand this?"

"First-hand knowledge of a subject can help map out goals and weaknesses, motivations and connections."

"Good. And what experience do you have of covert operations?"

\----

The ballroom was a mass of expensive, glittering faces. Canapés floated through the crowd on giant trays, accompanied by servers and even more alcohol. He could see Potts in the corner of the next room; the pale hair, the slender nose from the pictures. She was in a cocktail dress, green and black, talking to a cluster of Stark's senior investors. 

Natasha had spotted her too because she was turning to face him, leaning up to conscientiously push a strand of hair from his face.

"See you on the flip side," she said, unhooking from his elbow. "Don't do anything I'd have to make you regret."

Three weeks ago something like that would've made him wonder if he shouldn't stand his ground, but he's been getting used to her tough love as of late. She'd term it acceptance and friendly contempt, of course, but amongst all the double speak there's something that holds them tight.

"See you later."

\----

"If you'll look to the file on your right you'll see the list I'm drawing from. To save you reading it all, Stark has had a long parade of lovers."

Steve opened the file and leafed through a few pages. Various pictures stared back at him, clipped to the edges of walls of text. Large tracts of type had been retracted with black marker but that was of little surprise after all the other material he'd received.

"We don't expect you to have any problems with fitting yourself in. There's no real connections between who he pursues."

The colonel raised his head and gave Steve a faint smile. "I suppose no-one told him gluttony is a sin."

The deep lines on his face were grim in the sterile light of the briefing room and the joke fell flat. Steve nodded but didn't smile back.

\----

"Lost?"

The casual footsteps had been coming towards Steve for some time but he made a point to startle and turn at the voice. 

His subject had come to a halt a mere metre from him, champagne glass in hand. Before Steve could open his mouth he was waved quiet.

"No wait, I've changed my mind. That's the look of a man who's casing the joint."

Steve, halfway through offering his right hand for an introduction, let it fall back to his side. His planned opening was gone and the window he had to fix it was starting to close. He felt a flush of annoyance and let it spread, ready to play it off as embarrassment .

"The expensive vases are all on the third floor," Stark continued, meeting his gaze briefly and then taking a sauntering step towards him.

"I'm sorry?"

"But the security system is really something."

"I didn't -"

"What, you're not impressed? Here, have a hint." Stark pushed his dark glasses down his nose. "Just because there aren't armed goons patrolling every corridor doesn't mean the place isn't locked down tight."

The glasses went back up and Stark took a unexpected hold of Steve's hand. Casually he opened up the palm and placed his empty glass in it, curling Steve's fingers round for a firm hold.

Satisfied, he patted Steve on the elbow. "Don't break anything on your way out."

He was sauntering off in the other direction by the time Steve had found any of the openers he'd been planning on or witty comebacks he could've fired.

\----

His task, he knew, was clear. He was to be entertaining, self-aware, tough, accessible, not too easy but easy enough, and, lastly well-versed in the structure of the business world.

They'd briefed him in elaborate depth and he'd taken a lot of notes, even spent multiple evenings going through them in his room. As time had dragged on he'd realised the things that felt clearest from the hours of presentations and analysis were simpler still. He'd have to be fast on his feet with the communication and upfront about what he was after if necessary. Stark's profile suggested he wasn't likely to suffer fools or hang on mindless flattery.

"So," the colonel said, looking up. "Any questions?"

Most of Steve's interviews finished with a check of his understanding, not an opportunity to pose questions, so he paused.

"Is this a long-term assignment, sir? Am I aiming to become a fixed point in the subject's life?"

The colonel laughed, slow and hoarse. "Well, you can try, son. No-one will stop you if you manage it but we've not had much success in that sector yet." 

He closed his folder with a snap and stood up. "I'd work on getting the fish to bite before you try netting it, Captain."

Steve rose too and offered a smart salute as the colonel left the room. The one he received in return was haphazard and a beat behind, but he tried not to let that detail stick.

\----

"I won't ask why you're giving me an empty glass," Natasha said, leaning against the balcony. "Did you make contact?"

She had a lit cigarette in one hand and was smoking it casually. It was difficult to guess whether it was part of the persona she was wearing or a flash of the person beneath.

Steve checked his pockets as if looking for one of his own, glancing around as he did. He hadn't seen any evidence of security cameras near them but it paid to be careful.

"Second floor, near the drawing room. The glass is his. I thought they might want it for a DNA profile."

Natasha glanced down at it briefly then subtly shook her head. "It's not hard to get a sample of Tony Stark."

Steve set the glass down with a shrug. Loosening his tie an inch, he joined her in gazing out across the grounds.

"Or it didn't used to be," Natasha said. "He's shut a lot of doors recently. A lot of people got lost in the shuffle."

That was something that hadn't been mentioned in his briefings.

"That why I'm here?"

She shrugged. "How'd it go?"

"He didn't stay long. I'll need to re-engage."

"Go find him again," Natasha prompted. "Use that script this time, they designed it to get him interested."

"How do you know I haven't already?"

"Go," she said, suddenly impatiently. She twitched her fingers at him. He'd seen those fingers wrap round someone's neck before that someone was thrown off a roof. It was difficult not to wonder what she was doing there with him. Privately he sometimes thought that was why she was often with him on missions. To strangle him if anything went wrong.

"See you later," he said.

"Don't," she said, though she did smile faintly. "I'll see you when you're done."

\----

"You again?" Stark said, looking up from the tablet he was swiping at. "What, did you not find what you were looking for upstairs? Or was your chosen piece bolted down?"

"I think we got off to the wrong start, Mr Stark," Steve said, offering his hand firmly. "I'm Samuel Robbins, I -"

"Stop," Stark interrupted. "You're not here for the party and neither is your attractive friend. So either make whatever ill advised move you're here to try or go get drunk and eat canapés like everyone else."

"Mr Stark -"

"Tony," he said lazily, as he kicked back in his chair. He titled his head to the side and gave a broad smile. "Go on, I sense an edge of drama in your urgency."

Steve balked. He was being conned out of his script, pushed further away from any sense of predictability towards whatever loose end Stark wanted the conversation to end with before he kicked Steve out the door.

Squaring his shoulders, he resolved himself on his course of action.

"This would go easier if you were standing up, Sir."

When Stark didn't reply, Steve took a small step backwards to demonstrate the space in front of him. After gesturing politely, he waited, gauntlet thrown.

Stark opened his mouth, then closed it. Finally, he reached up and removed his glasses, then let the chair fall back to all fours and stood up.

"Fine, you have me interested," he said, stepping close. "Not as interested as I am in how dumb you think I am, but maybe a four on the scale." 

Steve smiled. "Out of ten?"

"Out of a hundred."

Up close, Stark's gaze was direct and unyielding. If Natasha's subtle threat earlier had made him want to bristle, Stark's sarcasm made him want to exercise a few muscles.

"I'm sorry to hear that."

"Plenty of people try to intimidate and kill me on a regular basis, Mr - oh, what was it?" He waved a hand, then tapped his head. "Sorry, it's a genius thing. Sometimes I forget the insignificant details."

Grinning, he stepped closer like Steve was no more dangerous than a fly. "I'm not expecting you to be successful, of course, but I am eager to see what flavour of assassination you have to offer."

"I'm glad to hear that, Mr Stark," Steve said and took him by the tie and kissed him.

\----

"We suspect the device is embedded somewhere on the subject's body."

The silent technician in charge of the presentation pressed her button. With a faint click an image of a slim rectangular object came onto the screen.

"This is only a mock-up of the piece in question, not to be taken as an absolute. We are not yet sure what shape or size the device is, or even if he has reached the implantation stage yet. He would need a competent practitioner to integrate it with living tissue so we are watching every lauded and experimental surgeon in the country. It is, however, possible he already has someone in place."

Steve had learnt that his more in-depth questions were rarely welcome and even more rarely answered, but he made a note of them in the margin for later anyway. What did the thing run off? How could something so small power itself in the way they were suggesting? How could he report effectively on something they weren't even sure he'd be able to identify?

"An arm would be a typical place for an implant but everything suggests this device would be too large and need more space. It's also possible that it maybe hidden entirely internally in which case you need to revert to a more stringent version of phase one - feel for anything that could be out of place."

\----

Stark pulled back sharply, eyes wide and focus shaken.

"What is it?" he said hurriedly. "Arsenic on the lips?" 

He wiped his sleeve across his mouth and Steve heard a rush of boots in the background. He braced for impact but Stark held up a hand and the footsteps receded.

"Cyanide capsule hidden in your mouth, then?" he said, with anger eating into his voice. "Flesh eating virus passed only through saliva? No wait, you don't strike me as having a death wish. What is it then? Some kind of nano technology you're going to use to burrow into my brain before you kill me?"

Some part of Steve felt sympathetic but another part of him locked in down and moved on.

"If I wanted to kill you, you'd be dead."

In the long frozen moment after saying it, he almost took it back. 

Stark cooled visibly and his stare became hard. It felt increasingly like he'd gone and thrown his only real opening away for nothing.

Stark picked up a spoon from the table's coffee set and tossed it in the air. On catching it he smiled tightly and looked back up.

"What are you doing in my house, Mr Robbins?"

"It's Rogers," Steve corrected, with a deep breath. "And Mr Stark, I was hoping that despite the theatrics I could get you to join me for a drink."

\----

His room at the institute was sparse but complete. There wasn't a lot of sunshine five metres down but there was room to build back up the muscle tone the doctors told him he'd lost. And time to revise file after file as the evenings wore on. 

The only other constants in his life were the odd excursions with Natasha and passing the gym on alternate evenings and seeing a man work out. His hair was dark and wet with sweat and he was always facing the other way. Something about him reminded Steve of marshy ground underfoot and the sharp taste of whisky. Cocked hats and burlap. Coffee that tasted nothing like what they served in the cafeteria with breakfast.

He had memories of a strange past that collided with the present during unexpected moments. Sometimes he was sure he'd stood on battlefields before and led people forward as they died around him. Then he sat through lessons on post traumatic stress; signs and healing, both. Ostensibly they were about Stark, about other people with service histories, but he didn't believe they would have him sit in on anything that wasn't relevant to him. It was their way of telling him subtly, he felt, that he wasn't as structured in his mind as he might once have been.

His medical report said it was thanks to the trauma his brain had gone through during the crash. Then on top of that, all the months in the coma had jarred him. The things he remembered were false memories from time spent dreaming in a hospital bed. He -

"Captain Rogers? Please pay attention."

He snapped back to the lesson at hand. It wasn't hard to swing his focus back. He'd been part of one program, then he'd been injured in action, and now he was part of another. All he had to do was concentrate on keeping his head about water until he didn't have to any more.

\----

"I hope you know this is an incredibly rare privilege," Stark said, placing a glass of whiskey in front of Steve with a pointed thump. "Let's call it a tribute to your clumsy and unexpected ardour. What can I do you for you Mr Robbins-Rogers-Please-Call-Me-Steve?"

Steve waited until Stark had poured himself a drink before taking some of his. Whether it was manners or an excuse for more time to think was something he'd have to debate with himself later. In that moment it just felt natural to take the pause.

"I grew up not far from here," he said, stiltedly. "I watched you on TV, Mr Stark. I -"

He paused as some part of him asked how far he would go. Then paused again when he found he didn't have an answer.

"Let's say I used to make a business out of making other people happy."

He was sure he didn't need to shoot Stark a fake ashamed glance to get across what he meant, but he did so anyway.

"Somebody asked me to approach you, something about shaming you into - maybe they offered a lot of money and I wanted a chance to meet you."

He stopped suddenly and pushed his chair back, standing up. "I won't bore you with the full story. I'm sure you can fill in the gaps."

"And that part where you implied you wouldn't have a problem killing me?" Stark said.

Steve waited while he sounded an answer out. "They told me I needed to be careful about protecting myself. That your people might not be friendly."

Stark's focus intensified. He stood up.

"Have you killed people before, Steve?" he said.

Steve met his eyes. It was difficult, if not impossible, not to. There was no way he could lie or tell the truth convincingly if he didn't. Still, it felt like a trap to stare the way he was being forced to.

"Yes."

A breath seemed to come out of him."

"Well I guess that makes two of us then," Stark said flippantly, stepping back. He turned around and walked over to the cabinet. "You can leave now, Mr Rogers. Enjoy the party. My goons will leave you alone,"

"Sir?"

"Go have fun with the chocolate fountain." He sounded tired. "If you need some prize or proof of a dalliance you can speak to Happy. I'm sure he can find you something."

"Mr Stark, I -"

"Goodnight."

This was twice now he was going to let himself be dismissed. Steve opened his mouth to try and prolong the encounter but found nothing to say that wouldn't disturb that fragile balance they had just reset.

Stark's back was closed off, his tone was absolute, Steve was smart enough to recognise not to press a window that had already closed or was closing.

"Goodnight, Mr Stark."

\----

Natasha took one look at him when he found her in a corner and rolled her eyes. 

"Do I need to lock you in a cellar together? I could've closed this an hour ago."

Steve smiled wryly in attempt to cover up how hollow he felt inside. It was mostly the knowledge that he was going to have to try again soon but the lies weren't sitting comfortably either.

"Any more tips?"

"Second brain," Natasha said. "Light the match, start the pillow talk, extract, game over."

Steve took a glass off a passing tray and downed it, grimacing. Alcohol never had much of an effect on him but psychologically it helped to feel like he was steeling himself for what was to come.

He shook his head. "It's not going to be that easy. I made him angry. Then I took what he thought was an attempt on his life. Followed up with more lies than I can count."

"Good, so you're all warmed up."

He almost laughed at how easily she said. The more he lingered on it, the more the whole plan seemed ridiculous.

"He'd have to be insane to sleep with me."

"I thought you'd read the dossier. We're safe on that front."

"You don't understand, I'm running short on plays here."

He saw a faint frustration peeling at the corners of her mask. Then she rolled her eyes again and took him by the sleeve. "This way."

\----

The way in question proved to be next to a large set of deserted french windows. She pushed him back against the curtains, then stepped in after him, pressing their bodies flush.

"You just need some warm-up," she said, calmly. "I'm going to kiss you. Please don't make the mistake of thinking it will ever happen again."

He had half a question on his lips but then she slid a thigh between his and he lost the train of thought. A moment later she had a hand in his hair and was tipping him down to her mouth. 

There was too much adrenaline and tension running through him for his pulse not to react. She kissed like she had a fire to spread and all he wanted to was to be dragged along. Her hand tugged at his hair and it felt like part of him had been pulled sharply on end. Her thigh pressed upwards into his groin and his body twitched like a machine coming pleasurably to motion.

Then she let him go with an unceremonious pat to the chest. 

"That's how you need to close the deal," she said.

She reached up while he was still reeling and adjusted his hair. She was back to the Natasha from outside, controlled, business-like. He, on the other hand, felt like he had been steamrollered then laid out to dry on hot concrete. Never again seemed like a very long time until he met her eyes and looked over the move more objectively. It was then he saw what she had given him. If thirty seconds contact had been all she needed to slow his brain by half, who was to say he couldn't do the same to Stark? 

"Good, you're catching on," she said. "Now come with me."

"Where?" he said, but she had already wrapped her hand round his wrist. 

"Come on, honey," she said, and it was definitely the persona looking at him then; sweet smile and sharp eyes. "There's something I need to show you."

\----

They took the same backstairs Steve had used earlier. He suspected Stark knew he had an access point issue, but there was no-one came out to stop them or yelled to see their hands. 

Natasha led him down the corridor he'd been standing in earlier, then took a different route. They rounded two corners and stepped through a dark high ceilinged room before reaching a final door. She paused on the threshold, then twisted the knob and stepped in.

"He'll know you're here. Don't go anywhere. You might have to wait, but he'll come."

He looked around in the dim light, but apart from the window and dark lumps of furniture he couldn't make much out.

"Where are we?" 

"His room."

She moved away from him, back towards the door. It felt like she was distancing herself from the scene of a crime. He tried not to let it bother him.

"Steve," she said, while he was trying to make out her face in the low light. "Don't come back down til it's done. You don't want to know what happens if you fail here."

He paused. 

"I'll be fine."

Natasha squeezed his arm.

"Attaboy," she said, but quietly and with very little humour.

\----

His relationship with sex wasn't particularly complicated. 

His memories from before the crash were so jumbled it was hard to know what or who he might've encountered, but he felt safe in saying that he'd known attraction previously and had acted on it. The questions they'd posed over various sessions conjured no thoughts of repulsion or reticence. or make him uncomfortable or unsure. He'd found himself answering instinctively and, to the best of his knowledge, honestly. Physical acts remained physical acts in his mind and he had no reason to believe his body would be less capable of them than it was with anything else.

It was difficult to guess at what it might be like after the crash. He'd only once reached a plateau of frustration at the institute. Working punching bag after punching bag he found a place where he couldn't stop chasing memories around his brain, getting angry he couldn't catch them. He'd let off the steam in the shower, washed off, and continued as he was.

His task at Stark Manor was going to be no different.

\----

"Wow, here we are again." Stark reached up for his tie and loosened it roughly. "You are certainly determined."

Steve had been waiting twenty minutes and it had proved more than enough time to harden his resolve. He crossed the room in even strides, then stopped in front of Stark. All he had to do was initiate if he did it right. Push the physical side, switch off both their brains and let their bodies do the talking.

Stark's tie hit him in the face while he was still thinking his move through. He caught it as it started to slip off his arms.

"A memento for your people," Stark said. "Your employees, I mean, not the stacked blonds of New York."

Steve stared at it in his hands, turned it over, then tightened his grip on it. He took half a step closer then looped it loosely round Stark's neck.

"I was after something more concrete," he said, and tugged.

Stark's eyebrows raised. "What do you know, kid's got game after all."

"Is it working?" He tugged a little more, bringing Stark's face closer.

"No," Stark said, grasping the tie and pulling it out of his hands. "But nice try. Definitely a strong effort."

The rejection was a burn but he ignored it.

"So what's a guy got to do round here to make friends?"

"Making friends, youch." Stark shuffled over to a dresser and pulled it open, depositing his tie in a drawer. "That's a little tired, you need to do better if you're going bring home the bacon. But to answer your question, I would suggest a change of career. Nothing personal, you know, just that the whole 'sleeping with the enemy' thing is only fun the first couple of times."

He pushed aside a pile of folded clothes and took off his watch, placing it on top of stand. When Steve didn't reply, he swung round and looked at him curiously.

"You still in there? Or did I lose you around the terrible line?"

Steve was still there but something else felt like it was wobbling loose. Stark was offering him tips on his pick-up lines and in the process the context of their meeting seemed to make less and less sense. This was the danger he was here to infiltrate and report on. The guy who was joking with him about poor approach. 

"What did you do?" he asked.

"I'm sorry?" 

"What did you do that made you a target worth all this?"

"All what? Worth killing? Strangling? Poisoning? Blowing up? Screwing?"

"Investigating."

Stark shrugged. "I don't know, buddy, you tell me. You're the one with the contract."

For a second he didn't know and he hovered on the edge of something uncertain, then the details came back. Stark had some energy device. Something he was going to use to counteract a medical fault. It had a lot of power. They needed to know more about it. They needed to know because - because what? 

He stopped.

"They didn't give out a lot of details," he said, hoarsely. "Nothing surplus to the task, anyway."

Stark stared. "You saying the reason they had you come here is surplus? A nice extra? That why they've got you trying some clumsy seduction doesn't even matter?"

Steve stiffened. "Sometimes you don't need to ask questions."

"Wow. Yet again: maybe it's time to find a new job."

"When your country asks you to serve, you don't say no."

Stark snorted. "Woah, okay, didn't catch that detail. Fair enough. Where you from, kiddo?"

"If you care that much, fine, I was born in Brooklyn."

"Wait," Stark said. "Are you saying you think you're serving your country coming here? Because if so, I have some bad news for you, buddy. I know all too well who you and your red-headed buddy are working for and let me tell you, it ain't Uncle Sam."

\----

His first memory from after the crash is of where he'd woken up. He'd been lying on a metal gurney in a room with stone walls and the walls had seemed like they were sweltering, dripping with moisture. His blood had been pumping fast enough that he'd heard it racing in his ears. Every time he'd raised his head he'd felt too dizzy to go any higher and had had to let it drop down again.

He'd been shivering manically, with his whole body twitching out of control. He remembered a clang of metal, the balance of the world being upset, and then the friction of some rough texture against his skin.

His next memory after that was a warm bed and what he later learned was the artificial sunlight of a UV lamp.

He was pretty sure the stone room was one of the places his mind must've taken him when he was struggling to wake from the coma. He'd never found a room like it anywhere else in his memory or in life. And it made no sense when placed alongside every other memory he had since.

\----

Stark put the folder down on the table and then sunk into the seat opposite. He'd had to go get the details from some other room and Steve had been left striding first to one side of the room then the other, turning over a hundred questions in his mind.

One minute, he had absolute surety in what he was doing, the next it was confused and all the sessions, all the things Natasha had said, became shaded and strange.

He'd almost dropped out the window in the first few minutes and gone back to the point where he'd been dropped. Then a more rational, angry side of him had taken over. The more he thought about it the more he realised when he went back didn't matter. He'd already blown his cover and opened himself up to his mission. He'd compromised himself beyond all fixing so lost nothing by sticking around long enough to ask for proof.

The folder wasn't heavy but there were enough pages for some to slip out when he picked it up. The first page was a picture of Natasha and a list of aliases. The second held lists of addresses. They didn't mean anything to him but he recognised some of the areas. It was difficult to think whether any of them were places they'd been recently. It was difficult to work out what it meant that Stark had these lists.

He went deeper until he found another photo he couldn't move past. It was the colonel that had briefed him occasionally, the one with the sloppy salute and the folder he was never without. 

"They let you out much?" Stark said. "On your own, I mean. Not under supervision like today."

He didn't answer in favour of leafing through more pages. Sure some of it was plausible, but none of it seemed like concrete proof.

He closed the file and threw it back down the table.

"I don't believe you," he said. 

"Really? You think the US government sends guys like you to seduce guys like me everyday? Where's your pension scheme? Your training? What unit are you attached to? These guys are stringing you along without a care in the world."

He pushed the file firmly back towards Steve.

"Look, I may know nothing about leadership in the field or whatever the hell it is you might do on a drill square, but I know criminal organisations when I see them. They leave money trails all over the place and they're so entrenched in dodgy drug deals and shaky dictatorships you can hear 'em coming a mile off."

Steve rests his hands over the folder but doesn't open it. Stark's good with words, persuasive even, every briefing he'd had told him that. But that didn't mean he was telling the truth or doing anything other than trying to cover his own miserable trails.

"If this were true - and I do mean if - how would I verify it?" I can't just ask them and I can't just take your word and a few documents for proof."

Stark leaned back in his chair and spread his hands with a smile. "You should've said sooner. Let's see, Homeland Security. They like to keep an eye out round these parts. Little bit pushy but they're not bad guys. I could get you a few of them. Or over here in the other hand we've got a direct line to Air Force top brass. If you'd prefer the uniformed approach, you know. No? I understand. Sometimes the ceremony makes my shoulders itch. What about the Director of the FBI? Keeps changing his number on me, but I can fix that. They're usually pretty easy to hack even if they are sorta sensitive. Who knew wake-up calls counted as a violation of personal space?"

If Steve's head was swimming before it starts spinning faster after that..

"Mr Stark -"

"Tony, please."

"Tony," he stops and swallows. "I think I could use a drink."

\----

One drink becomes two as he goes over the papers a second time in more detail. The more he reads, the more the pieces seemed to click into place. The interrogations, the instructions not to talk to anyone other than his subject, the underground safehouses, the way Natasha had warned him not to fail.

"My partner," he said. "What happens to her if I come in?"

Stark shrugged. "Depends if she wants to play nice or not. You've seen what I've got on her but that's not even half if she's who I think she is. They named her after a spider, you know. That means eight legs for her to land on. You, on the other hand, only have two."

"You think she knows?"

It made him a little sick to think that she could be a part of it. He couldn't reconcile it in his mind either, not put up again the Natasha who helped him in her own way whenever she could.

"Difficult to say. But put it this way, you don't send two blind mice into the cat's house to play. One of you has to know what's going on."

It was possible they had something on her, then. That's what he was going to believe. Or maybe there was just even more that he was missing. He clenched his fist. It was like being given a ball of string that just rolled further away every time he tried to unravel it.

"Hey," Stark said. "Okay, you're looking far too morose for a man who's just moved over from the dark side. Sit tight, I'm going to crack out the good stuff."

\----

"Don't take offence, but you didn't strike me as the type to hold your aged scotch nearly half this well."

"Call it a skill," Steve said. They'd stopped a while back and his buzz had completely faded, but he got the impression that Tony was gently drunk. He definitely looked more relaxed. But then Steve was feeling that way too. His mission was off the cards, there weren't going to be any more interrogation sessions. For all the reveals of the past hour, he no longer felt the world was closing in on him from all sides.

His mind began to wander back to smaller things.

"Why did you let us waltz all over the place if you knew who we were working for?"

"Mice and cat, remember?" Stark said. "Any good cat's got to play with its prey."

He thumbed the rim of his empty glass. "You wouldn't find anything important here, anyway. This place is just a graveyard for my parent's relics. The only reason I'm not renting it out is because the only people that can afford it are ego-centric assholes who remind me too much of me."

He smiled but it looked too tight for Steve to really class it as one.

"My turn. That whole story about you watching me on TV, that was a lie, right?"

Steve had to cast his mind back. It seemed like such a long time ago that he had said that, but the memory was still there when he reached for it, clean and new.

"It doesn't have to be. They made me watch a lot of footage."

"Charming members of the Associated Press?"

"Sometimes. There was an opening ceremony, though. A hospital wing."

He remembers that one because it was a new build and it had been lit up in the bright sun like a senate building.

"Leukaemia," Stark said. "We built them a fun room."

He cleared his throat and tipped up his glass to catch whatever dregs were left there.

"There's a 3D printer. They want a theremin as well now but apparently I have to wait until Christmas otherwise it's just spoiling them."

"Oh."

"I tried to tell them the spirit of Christmas doesn't end with Christmas but it didn't work. I think the ward manager is a grinch. Or you know, worried about what happens when they ask for a nuclear reactor and I go round with one. One or the other. Probably she's a grinch."

Steve stops thinking of him as Stark sometime after that.

\----

The silence between the burst of conversations started to get longer and longer. Steve's eyelids started to droop not long after he remembers hearing some clock chime twice. He wouldn't have minded sleeping in the chair but he's intruded enough on Tony's personal space. He didn't think it would be hard to find an empty bedroom anyway. Natasha would just think everything had gone well enough that he was going to stay the night.

He rose as silently as he could but Tony stirred as he passed and looked up at him.

"Cold feet? Not going back to the mothership, are you?"

"No," he said honestly, as the thought hadn't crossed his mind for sometime.

Tony pulled himself upright in his chair.

"Wrong moment and everything, and I wasn't going to say anything, what with you being one great walking deception and all, but that thing with the tie earlier? That might have been better than I let you have credit for."

The silence that followed echoed. Steve paused. He wasn't meant to get involved. Not when he had been on the job, not now he was off it. It was too complicated and he didn't even know that there was anything of him, under all the duplicity, that he could offer.

At the same time he'd never felt so fundamentally lonely as he did then.

"Thanks," he said. And when Tony reached up, he let their palms brush silently before he left for another room.

\----

EPILOGUE

Steve didn't realise how starved for contact he was until he was pushed back onto the bed and Tony climbed on top. Tony had faded marker ink on the side of his fingers and Steve found himself watching the dark blurs as they moved slow and rough across his ribcage. When they found his face he turned into them and let them smooth over the pads of his lips, the edges of his ears, the back of his neck. Any place Tony could find that made him sweat, he went for with his teeth or his fingers. 

Steve reciprocated with grasping hands, feeling out the length of Tony's back and letting Tony guide him with noise as to where he wanted fingernails scraped. After hours of stethoscopes and heart monitors the full contact almost felt like too much but he couldn't persuade himself to take less than everything he was being given.

When Tony went for his belt he had to bite his lip to remain still. Nothing came free fast enough so they both worked at it, fingers brushing as they managed to get themselves loose. Steve took hold of them both and had to choke out a noise into Tony's shoulder. Every press and squeeze was obscene and it only got worse when Tony grasped his wrist and guided it slower, until they were both breathing uneven and sweat began to bead on their foreheads.

He fought embarrassment and gave into it at the same time. Every time he tried to keep his mouth shut, it opened and groaned. Every time he tried to control his legs, they twitched of their own accord and wrapped round whatever part of Tony they could find. Tony's mouth meanwhile became something dizzying, a tunnel of mirrors where every sensation was doubled back at him from every side.

When he started to lose purchase from the damp and the way his focus was slipping, Tony's hand curled round his and squeezed them both tight. He lasted two, three shared strokes and then choked out an orgasm that saw his head tipping back and his nerves firing sensation in a hundred separate explosions.

Tony followed a second after with a groan that sounded like Steve's name. He shook then tipped his head onto Steve's shoulder, biting and mouthing at the skin there alternatively as the last of it rocked through him.

\----

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Wolf Parade.


End file.
